


In Case Of Emergency

by knightnoches



Category: Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Short, Unbeta'd, World's Finest, gay batman, my bruce and clark are just an amalgam of eighty different canons im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 02:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18459665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightnoches/pseuds/knightnoches
Summary: As per usual, Bruce frets.





	In Case Of Emergency

Bruce’s belt had many functions.

It was a bit of a trademark—Batman’s Utility Belt. Each little item at his disposal was almost comically bat themed, but none lacked purpose.

There was one thing, though, that had not been his design or original design. A watch. It sat in the front pouch of the belt, not overly snug. Bruce was almost painfully aware of it at times.

The button on it emitted a shrill, far-reaching signal—and it had been a gift. He couldn’t just throw it away—what, and risk it reaching the hands of some stranger, who would press it out of curiosity?

So, there he sat on his bed, rolling the watch back and forth between his thumb and index.

If he pressed it, would he come? Bruce knew he would. It was hardly a question.

Superman— _Clark—_ would bust down Bruce’s nice double doors, or even worse, come flying through his windows, frantically looking from side to side— and ask for him;

_“Bruce?”_

In that voice of his. The voice that got stronger when he was worried, with that silly midwestern accent. That stupid, goofy midwestern accent.

And Clark would see him, and fly towards him, close, _too close,_ and his brow would furrow as he tried to see where Bruce was hurt.

_“What’s wrong, are you hurt anywhere? What happened?”_

And Bruce would have to explain that it was nothing.

That he just wanted to… To see him.

And he knew he could give Clark a call, text him even, and he would come right away. If he was at dinner or work, he would ask Bruce if he wanted him to bring him anything. Clark would tell him what restaurant he was at, and probably say that

_“The tiramisu here is really good.”_

In attempt to get Bruce to eat something, in case he hadn’t.

Bruce would accept, if he were in the mood to, and he was almost always in the mood to accept when Clark was the one offering, and Clark would show up with more than Bruce asked for.

_“I thought you were bringing tiramisu.”_

_“Their caprese isn’t bad either. I thought you should try it.”_

_“Did you now?”_

Clark would pick up bottled drinks from a bodega, even though Bruce had drinks _right downstairs,_ and he would smile as he handed Bruce a glass bottle of sparkling water.

He could just call him. It would be that easy.

The selfish part of him, though—the part that wanted to hold Clark’s hand, that wanted to cause as many nights in as possible, told him to press that button instead.

Told him that this _was_ an emergency, that he _needed_ Clark _right this very second._

Part of his heart ached. It was something he would rather not address, but it stopped aching when Clark was around, and it felt so nice. He felt guilty for using Clark to assuage his own heartache, implications of that notwithstanding.

Was he in love?

_No comment._

If he was being honest with himself, and he often was, he and Clark sat too close, stared too long to be in an entirely platonic mindset.

But god, he feared he would ruin him.

Bruce wasn’t built for relationships. He had contingency plans on top of contingency plans, but they were for safety—he wasn’t sure how he would handle an exit strategy from his relationship with Clark.

He wasn’t sure how he would handle Clark’s exit strategy from their relationship, if he had one.

They worked together, and the things they worked towards were too important for Bruce to go ahead and jeopardize for something like the _whims of his heart._

But his heart ached when Clark flashed him that smile, whether in the Watchtower or anywhere else, his skin shivered when Clark would straighten up and step forward when he felt that he might need to protect Bruce.

Clark was _attractive—_ Bruce had no problem admitting that—but things like love and crushes had hardly ever been his forte.

Clark knew his heartbeat.

Did he know it got faster when he was around?

Or had it been so long now that he thought that was just the way that Bruce’s heart sounded?

Bruce had never asked. He didn’t plan to.

When Clark had looked him in the eye, told him that he _knew_ his heartbeat, that it was memorized, so recognizable to him, something that he heard every time they were around each other—

He hoped Clark didn’t hear his heart jump.

Bruce shifted. It was late, but he was too awake now to think about trying to get to sleep.

He missed Clark.

His veins itched as he tried to stop thinking about it.

Bruce sighed, frustrated with his own lack of self-discipline when it came to something as silly as a _crush._ He didn’t want to think about it, but couldn’t stop thinking about it, either.

It was hard to stop sitting in that half-denial, half-acceptance.

Bruce sighed. He felt dumb.

Like a teenager.

The weather outside was still, and warm for a night in the middle of a Gotham winter. A heavy sigh spilled out from Bruce’s lungs as he looked out his window.

If he really wanted to take his mind off things, he should focus on something productive—get some work done.

His phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, so I’m standing outside this place on the west end and they have the most amazing siu mai, I was wondering if you…?”

“You can come in through the balcony—the doors will wake Alfred.”

“I’ll see you in 20.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
